The King of Steam and The Ginger Lightning
by kkolmakov
Summary: Steampunk AU. Thirty two years ago SS Erebor was lost at sea, and John Thorington, the owner of Durinson & Co. Steamship Company Ltd. assembles a crew of misfits to find the ship. In the world of steam, brass and external combustion the company will venture on an adventure, and perhaps, there is indeed a colossal squid guarding the precious cargo of SS Erebor. ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Oh but I was never good at waiting! :) The steampunk AU is here, my lovelies!**

John Thorington, Esq., the owner of the Durinson & Co. Steamship Company Ltd., the largest shipbuilding and transporting enterprise in the known world, was sitting at his oaken desk, littered with endless papers and ink bottles. Head of the company, built by his grandfather and strengthened and expanded by his father to unimaginable proportions, Thorington was known from the Sundering Seas to the Mountains of the East as the King of Steam.

All but a few surface or underwater vessels in the world were born in his docks, a net of routes spreading wherever people dwelled and water ran. He followed the steps of his father, who had ensured his empire's never ending success by acquiring several large mining regions and metalworks plants to produce parts for their ships. John Thorington had taken his father's approach one step further and ensured constant cooperation with several other tycoons, making important connections with the worlds of timber and air. Elliott Thrandon, the owner of most timber producing lands and multitudinal mills, was now providing Thorington shipping companies with wood products, and together with Hugo Elrond of Rivendell Airship Travel Corporation, Durinson & Co. introduced the revolutionary service that had changed the map of the world. Flying machines were now swift and light, transporting parts for ships and providing quick repairs, ensuring a never interrupted flow of goods and services to every corner of the civilised world.

The three Kings ruled the world driven by steam and fire, the lightning from the sky alone remaining the only element escaping their control. In the world of steel, brass and external combustion, the globes with the energy from the sky harnessed by those called Sky Bolt Catchers were crucial for the industries. While the three fields were built on the toil of thousands of workers on Thorington's, Thrandon's and even Elrond's factories, the latter being the most liberal of them, the Bolt Catchers remained a free cast, chosen by nature itself, resistant to the lightning lethal to others, and ardently protecting the odd for the world around them democracy among them. They were said to be the source of "the new plague," as the newspapers called it, - the idea of workers' unions.

John Thorington had very little patience for the "blasted convoluted ideas" and governed his factories and docks with the iron fist. He slept for no more than three hours a day, due to the insomnia that was passed in his family between generations of sons, and it's worth mentioning here that the Thoringtons prided themselves for their firstborns always being a boy. John Thorington was also involved in every little affair in his business and had little to go home to. His household consisted of a driver and a bodyguard, a giant fierce former boxer, Graham Dwalinson, a housekeeper and a cook. He took his meals mostly in his office in the upper floor of the building occupied by his numerous clerks in their bureaus and departments, his living quarters situated in the mansion adjoint to the main building.

The day this story began, Thorington's secretary knocked at his door and announced that a visitor had arrived without a previous appointment and asked whether Thorington wished to speak to a Mr. Ian McGrey, a cartographer. Upon being invited inside Mr. McGrey approached the host and shook his hand vigorously with an odd chuckle. Mr. McGrey was a tall man, in his sixties or perhaps seventies, energetic and swift, in a worn down grey suit, a dusty bowler hat sitting on his silver hair. He wore a beard that was in fashion that season, though one would doubt he was aware of the concept of vogue. He had keen, sharp eyes, light blue and sparkling with mischief. In his hands he held a large leather briefcase, as battered as the rest of his belongings.

"Mr. Thorington, I should introduce myself, my name is Ian McGrey..."

"I know who you are," Thorington interrupted in slight irritation and sat back into his large mahogany chair.

"Well, this is a fine chance. I wasn't certain if you'd remember me… I used to work with your father, but you were just a child then." Thorington nodded politely, but his patience was running out. He was a man of few words and decisive steps.

"How can I help you, Mr. McGrey?" His tone was peevish.

"Well, it concerns _Erebor_..." That got Thorington's attention. He jerked his head up, his eyes having already fallen on the paper he had been reading previously. Now they were focused on the strangely blissful face of the man in front of him. "You do remember her, right? Your father's biggest ship."

"I do remember _Erebor_, Mr. McGrey. What of her?"

"She had sunk in the Lonely Sea... what? About thirty years ago?"

"Thirty two," Thorington corrected.

"And it's been long time since anything but rumour was heard of this ship, am I right?" Thorington leaned back in his chair.

"Is this conversation leading anywhere, Mr. McGrey? My time is worth something. Or are you here to reminisce about good old times when you were the head of my father's cartography department? I do not forget faces," he narrowed his eyes, "As well as I do not forget the reasons people are made redundant in this company." The old man's face twitched, and he shifted on his chair.

"Then you know that _Erebor _has long been worrying me, Mr. Thorington. I have searched for maps of the waters she had disappeared in and the first hand accounts of those waters for years..." Thorington exhaled impatiently.

"Yes, you have also become obsessed with an alleged giant sea monster living in those waters and guarding the ship," Thorington's voice rang sarcastically, "Do you still think that there is a colossal squid like creature sleeping over _Erebor_'s cargo, Mr. McGrey?" He lifted his eyebrow in a sardonical gesture. The old man suddenly grew blissfully unaware of Thorington's attitude and ignored his remark.

"The matter is, Mr. Thorington, that a few months ago I ran into some unsavoury characters in New Bree, and I have acquired some new evidence." Thorington sighed and stretched his hand to the velvet string of the bell on the wall to call his secretary. "Mr. Thorington, I have evidence that the ship has been searched for all through these years in the wrong location, and I have proof." McGrey opened his case and placed in front of the man at the desk a map and a journal that was obviously a captain's log. The cartographer poked the journal with his long bony finger. "This is the log of Captain Bard, vessel _Esgaroth_, whose route lay in the seas much to the North from where _Erebor _was supposedly buried all these years." The old man looked into Throington's eyes. "I know how much you desire her, Mr. Thorington. What if I were to help you to return her?"

"How?" Thorington spoke in a hollow voice, "In case you have forgotten she lies half the world away buried under leagues and leagues of water. And her location is unknown."

"That, my dear sir, is not entirely true. According to Captain Bard's log, and he gives the location of such event, his divers found this..." The old man pushed his hand down his briefcase and pulled out a small wooden box. Previously intricately carved, it was badly damaged by water, although the Thorington family crest on its lid was still clearly visible.

Thorington blanched and spoke in a raspy voice, "How came you by this? This is the key chest from _Erebor_!" He took the box from the hands of the cartographer and ran the pulps of his long fingers on its lid. His eyes shiny, an emotion almost reminiscent of tenderness ran across his face. He followed the outline of the former gilded letters _SS Erebor_.

Thorington opened the box and his face fell. It was empty. He clenched his jaw and glared at the cartographer.

"Where is the ignition key, Mr. McGrey? Even if we reach the ship at the sea bottom, we can't lift her to the surface without the ignition key!"

McGrey suddenly leaned ahead and looking directly into Thorington's eyes he pronounced slowly, "I will help you return her, Mr. Thorington. And I will provide you with the location of the key. But you have to promise me I'm going to this journey with you."

Thorington closed the box with gentle reverence, and his face once again cold and unreadable, he relaxed in his chair. It didn't escape McGrey's attention that the box remained near Thorington's hand, the tips of his fingers occasionally brushing it. "Why do you think I'm going to any sort of journey, Mr. McGrey?"

"You have the might and power to return _Erebor_, Mr. Thorington. And though you were just a boy, you remember her. Do you not?" Throington's eyes grew distant.

"I do." He breathed out. "Her holds... Her engine rooms... The hull filled with golden light..." He shook off his head to rid himself of the daze and looked at the old man.

"Even if this journey, and it does sound rather absurd, is to take place, I can not guarantee your safety."

"Understood."

"Have you ever been in the sea, Mr. McGrey?"

"I have had my share of travels, yes."

"Nor will I be responsible for the outcome of this enterprise." The old man nodded.

"Agreed." His face suddenly wavered, and he moved closer to Throington's desk peering into the younger man's eyes. "I am certain this journey has to take place and urgently. Sooner or later greedier minds will turn towards _Erebor_, Mr. Thorington."

"And what about your mind, Mr. McGrey? She is after all filled with gold and gems up to her brim," Thorington's eyes sparkled mockingly.

"You might not believe me, Mr. Thorington, but gold interests me not." The cartographer's face was suddenly haughty.

"What then? Your alleged sea monster?" Thorington's tone obviously showed that he didn't believe in such nonsense. The cartographer leaned back in his chair and returned to his previous rather imbecilic smile.

"We will need a company, Mr. Thorington. Men you personally can trust. The task we have ahead of us will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But if we're careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

Thorington's brows twitched slightly, and a small smile played on his lips. He'd spend his whole life watching over construction of ships that would travel the world. Perhaps, it was time for him to see it too. He remembered the thrill and the titillation of venturing on an adventure he had had some taste of in his youth, and his eyes lit up.

"Well, Mr. McGrey, welcome to the company of John Thorington." They got up, shook hands, and spreading the journal and maps on Thorington's desk they busied themselves with planning.

**A/N#2: As usual, you can find some visuals on my Pinterest page, same name kkolmakov, but again, do not expect too much :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: In case you skipped the first chapter thinking it was identical to the piece posted in _We Are Scattered Through Time and Space_, it wasn't :) **

**A/N#2: Chapter 4 will be based on what was in _WASTTaS _but will have changes in it, so you might still want to have a look :)**

"I can't say I fully approve of your plan, lad," Kenneth Balinson, Thorington's barrister and right hand shook his white head, "_Erebor _was a beauty, and I know you hold a special place for her in your heart, but this is highly risky. The task would be difficult enough with a fleet behind us, but you want us to number just fifteen, even if the best and the brightest."

The two men were sitting in Thorington's hansom cab, and Balinson threw a sharp look at the younger man in the dim light of passing gas streetlamps. Thorington didn't turn his head, continuing to look through the small window of the carriage.

"I will choose men wisely, Balinson," he answered thoughtfully, "We will take the best with us. Loyalty, honor, a willing heart. I can ask no more than that. And, Kenneth," he turned around, and the old counsellor saw his master like he had never seen him before. Fire of adventure hunger shining through his burning eyes, Thorington clasped a fist in front of his face, "It's time we seize this chance and get her back. From my grandfather to my father, she has come to me. They dreamt of the day when _Erebor_ would enter the docks of Durinson's harbour again. There is no choice, Balinson. Not for me. She is waiting for me!"

The old man sighed and nodded, "Then we are with you, laddie. We will see it done." Thorington smiled widely and clapped his old friend's shoulder.

Balinson had been his father's counselor for many years, and after Theodore Thorington's passing he had become the young Thorington's trusted advisor. Balinson, with his stocky figure, snow white hair, opulent moustache twisted at the ends, and clever dark eyes under bushy eyebrows, had always showed an almost fatherly affection towards his master, supporting him in business endeavours. He was the one who suggested his own cousin, Graham Dwalinson as Thorington's bodyguard, which turned out a very fortunate arrangement, considering how many times the presence of the latter saved Thorington's health, if not life. New Eredluin was a dangerous city, bursting with energy, fast money and even swifter blades and bullets. Thorington also had a habit of personally overseeing the life of his docks and factories, his tall, wide-shouldered figure often seen in the poorest corners of the worker parts of the city. He was a skilled Bartitsu fighter himself, deadly with his cane, with its strengthened length, enforced head and for critical circumstances the blade hidden inside. Always accompanied by Dwalinson he was the last person one would want to engage into an intrication with. But desperate times and such, and many people would find the chains on his extravagant silk vests, embroidered with blue and silver, and his bespoke pepper-box revolvers with ivory handles rather tempting.

"Are you taking the boys?" Balinson asked softly, and Thorington twisted his pocket watch in his long fingers. The lid clicked softly, and he looked at the portrait at the back of it. There he saw the face of a beautiful, dark-haired, rather haughty looking woman with two young boys. His sister, a long time widowed Mrs. Deadre Bronson, he knew, wouldn't approve of her two sons going on a mad adventure with their uncle, but John needed them with him. In his heart he believed that at the end one could fully trust only his kin.

Killian, a young man of twenty three, was currently serving on one of Thorington's ship, _SS Tauriel_. He was one of the best artillery officers ever serving in the army of the United Arda, famous for his astonishing precision with smoothbore muzzle-loading guns and mortars, and even deadlier with twin 100-ton guns. His brother, Philip, two years older, also a former military officer, proficient with a breech loading rifle and multi-barrelled handguns, was at his best in a close contact combat, due to his unusual technique of fighting with two pattern duo purpose swords.

Thorington nodded confirming and added, "I'm taking Bomburio and Mrs. O'Gloin with me as well."

"Your cook and the housekeeper?" Balinson asked in surprise.

"It's a long journey," Thorington seemed pensive, "I'll take Doctor Oinson as well. He is old, but there is no better surgeon than him, and I have a nasty feeling his service will be required."

Balinson lowered his head sadly, "We are going to pirate infested waters, lad, we will need the old man. Jimmy O'Bofurry as your chemist and explosives expert I presume?" Thorington nodded. "His cousin, O'Bifurson, as a gunner..."

"He is dead between his ears, but there is no one better. Killian is best when it comes to aim, but someone will have to load the cannons." Thorington closed his watch with a pleasant click. "What was the name of that small kid, the engineer we hired last month? Orison?"

"Aye, Orison, him and his cousin Norison will manage any engine you throw at them. Which ship are you taking?" Thorington gave him a sly smile, and Balinson puffed air exasperated. "Gods be my witness, you'll blow us up before we reach the Weather Hills."

"Common, she isn't that bad. She has a temper..."

"Temper? This ship of yours, _SS __Lamiaceae,_" Balinson pronounced derisively, "is a bag of cats."

"She is fast and powerful. And she likes me," Thorington smirked lopsidedly.

"You still need the second operator, you can't drive her at all times."

"Dorison will go, he is greedy and eager to please. There is no one better than him when it comes to amphibious vessels." Thorington frowned. "There is one more condition that McGrey imposed if we want his maps and his journals. He is bringing the diver."

"What?" Balinson looked at his master agape, "How in the Durin's name are we supposed to trust some lad we've never seen before? We need an expert! To find her, go down, and raise her from the depth!.. We need to be certain of the man!"

"If he fails, I can go myself."

"John..." Balinson rarely used his master's first name, but emotions overwhelmed him. "It is endlessly dangerous, laddie. We do not know what you will find down there. You needn't go if you don't want to. There's no dishonor in sending someone else." Thorington clapped his friend on the shoulder again and smiled warmly.

"I am not that old, Balinson."

"Oh, laddie… I know your mind on this question, but if there is in fact a, um… a live sea monster down there..." Thorington lifted one brow up and chuckled.

"Oh I'm sure there is one there. It is having a tea party with mermaids."

"Do not jest, John, the sea loves respect."

"And she doesn't get more of it from anyone than me," Thorington brushed his fingers on the octopus pin on his ascot tie, the family crest of Thoringtons.

The cab stopped, and Dwalinson opened the door for the two gentlemen. They had arrived to Thorington's mansion that had become temporary headquarters for their quickly assembling crew. McGrey was waiting for them in the parlour, his eyes sparkling with feverish excitement.

"I've deciphered half of the encryption on this map!" He waved a piece of parchment in front of Thorington's face. "This one should lead us to the key!"

"The ignition key?" Thorington rushed after the exuberant cartographer, jerking off his long, Karakul lamb collared coat on the way. In the library a large table was covered in maps, volumes of books and marine registers.

"According to this," the old man shook an old journal in the air, "A captain of a marine vessel once encountered a pirate crew who were in the possession of the box, the one I gave you the very first day. And in here," he pointed on a stack of old letters, "A pirate from that very pirate crew tells about the beach where him and his mates hid the 'small but mighty precious treasure'."

Thorington leaned over the map and studies the encryption. It was made in some dark ink, neither black, nor blue, followed by a drawing of a hand with its index finger pointing at a coastline in Enedwaith. "Is this where the key is buried?"

"Supposedly," McGrey twirled his pipe in his hands and pointed at a spot on the map with its handle. "These are secret sea pirates marks. The second half possibly talks about the location of _Erebor_… The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map, but I do not have the skill to find it, but there are others in New Arda who can."

Thorington ignored the cartographer's last remark, his eyes glued to the map. "There is nothing here, just a small town named Leary… What were the pirates doing there? Why bury the key there?"

"The letter doesn't clarify. It is addressed to the pirate's sweetheart, he promises to return to her after he and his mates share the loot and 'gots a chink', I suppose he means the payment for their service."

Thorington sat in a chair and lit up a long, thin, cherry flavoured panatela. "Well, Mr. McGrey, once our crew is here, I suppose this Leary is our first stop in this adventure."


	3. Chapter 3

The day was exceptionally warm, and Thorington shook off his coat and jacket, when in a small dock in Enedwaith followed by his nephews and Dwalinson, carrying heavy shovels and pickaxes, he disembarked his ship. _SS __Lamiaceae _was a light vessel, a 1000 horsepower, four-cylinder unit, driving the propeller shaft via a complex arrangement of chains. She was indeed a temperamental one, most of her whims manifesting when it was time to abandon the water element and open the oblong balloon consisting of flexibly articulated rigid sections to soar into the skies. She was the only vessel engineered by this revolutionary design, which due to its proneness to malfunctions had never seen mass production, a safer choice of hot air balloons as a non-collapsible part of amphibious vessels being a standard choice. Thorington was very fond of his unique ship, not quite sharing his closest associates' opinion that "she be the death of us, no need in ack ruffians."

The young engineer Orison rushed after the four men, his hands full of disarrayed papers and a device consisting of a magnetic detector with a gauge and a bell, with a long handle attached to them.

"Captain Thorington, Captain!.." The young man was freckled, timorous and endlessly intimidated by such close interactions with his new commander and other men, who seemed terrifyingly experienced and confident to him. He was a civilian engineer, with no real experience of being at sea or in the clouds, but he was so eager to impress Thorington that when offered to participate in the adventure, he could only squeak, "Aye, sir!"

Killian, Thorington's younger nephew halted his strutting and turned around. He gave the engineer the brightest of smiles, and opening his arm in a wide gesture he yelled, "Chivvy along! What was it? Adam, right?"

"Aye, sir," Orison reached the young officer, the other three men much ahead of them by then. "Adam Orison, at your service."

"Call me Killian," the dark-haired officer smacked his new friend on his back, making him stumble over his steps. "You are a genius of puffs and cogs, so they say. You wouldn't be on this journey, if you weren't the best. So puff up your chest and let's go. Common!" They sped up, catching up to Thorington and his companion.

"Lieutenant Bronson," Orison hesitantly addressed Thorington's younger nephew.

"Killian, mate," the officer gave the engineer a white-toothed grin.

"Killian, how will we know where to look for the key? I gather, the detector will show us where the metal is buried, but this is a rather large beach..." He looked around. The wide stripe of sand stretched for miles ahead.

"Uncle always has a trump card in his sleeve, Adam, my mate," Killian patted his shoulder, "Do not fret." Orison looked at him in admiration. Killian Bronson, with his dark wavy locks, tied with a silk ribbon, in his double breasted overcoat, over an ostentatious silk embroidered vest, jet black and perfectly cut, a starched white shirt and a black topper with pheasant feathers, onyx pin, and goggles sitting on the brim, exuded some sort of warm amusement and comfortable joie de vivre. Orison exhaled and smiled to him hesitantly.

Killian's older brother, Philipp, confidently sashaying a few hundred feet ahead of them, turned around and yelled to them, continuing to walk, this time backwards, "Hey, lasses, can you move any slower? By the time you catch up, we will be drinking the Mirkwood red in _Erebor_'s saloon!"

"If only you could hold your drink, brother mine, the way you can wag your tongue," Killian yelled back, and the brothers exchanged rude gestures. Orison watched the two of them with widened eyes.

"Move on," Thorington's booming voice and a stern look made them shrink quickly, and they started walking faster, all of them finally facing in the right direction.

In his hands, the King of Steam was carrying a replica of McGrey's map, additional instructions written on it, most of the text on it deciphered.

"There should be a cave nearby," his voice was quiet but the command in it was clear, and others quickly spread on the beach.

Half an hour later the cave, indubitably used by those very pirates for storing their loot for years, was found. Unfortunately, neither sharp eyes, nor keen observational skills contributed in such success. A dimwit would be able to understand where the treasure of any sort was buried, since among large coastal rocks the men saw an entrance, lit by several so called Arc Globes, lamps that produced light by an electric arc formed between metal electrodes through an inert gas in a glass bulb, habitually used by Bolt Catchers. And inside the cave Thorington who decisively moved in found two women diligently digging in the sand, who in their turn froze at the view of five men standing dumbfounded, each holding a tool of their own. And at the very moment when the icy blue eyes of John Thorington met the pair of strange slanted eyes of the smaller of them, a minuscule redhead, the shovel of the second one met something under the sand with a dull thud. Both women looked down, and before anyone else could do anything, the redhead bent down and pulled a small wooden box out of the sand.

Several things happened at the same time. The fingers of her small hand ran across the lid wiping off the sand, and the box opened with a melodic click, engineer Orison yelped, "But the key!.." and a loud noise of an airborne vessel cut through the quiet seaside air outside. The echo from its engine's roar rolled through the cave, and the redhead grabbed the hand of another woman.

"Thea, run." She had a confident voice, and something exploded at the back of Thorington's head at the sound of it. The women sprinted away from the still flabberghasted men, and only then the latter saw the second entrance to the cave. Thorington rushed after them, Dwalinson following him close by, and they stomped through a narrow passage among the rocks leading back onto the beach.

Above the calm blue water of the sea and the mouth of River Greyflood there hanged the most unusual of vessels. Under a large hot air balloon the men saw a light, brightly shining brass hull, shaped into an uncanny resemblance of a round bird, the wings and the tail of the aircraft forming the plumage of the avian. On its side indigo letter said _SS Kinglet_, and a flag of Sky Bolt Catchers Union fluttered in the wind. The women were already underneath it, and a rope ladder quickly was thrown out of the hatch on the side of the vessel. It was hovering over the beach, with an astonishing stability. If only his thoughts hadn't been completely absorbed by the small wooden box clasped in the hand of the redhead, Thorington would have marvelled at the unique design of the ship and even perhaps would have inquired of how such technological success could have been achieved.

The taller woman, and Thorington finally managed to have a better look at her, grabbed the ladder and started climbing it deftly. She had magnificent chestnut curls, in a stylish do, curvaceous body, clad in a dark burgundy tailcoat and a voluminous, dark grey three-tiered skirt, pulled up in the front and clasped to her belt with four small buckles, showing her long legs in stripy, black and white stockings. Practical ankle boots made her calves look even more appetizing, and Thorington heard his older nephew give out an approving whistle.

Thorington could not have cared less about the lure of feminine beauty at the moment. His eyes were glued to the other woman. She was tiny, hardly five feet three, angular, rather unattractive to his taste, with a mop of mad orange curls hardly contained in two thick long braids, hanging from under a bowler hat. She was dressed in a white shirt, a black underbust corset, and tight leather trousers. She had an almost adolescent body, large goggles hanging around her neck, and to his utter apprehension he saw a smug grin spreading on her face, her mouth wide and bright red. She grabbed the ladder with her left hand, saluted him by touching the box in her other hand to the brim of her hat, and the vessel above her roared.

"Cheerio, chukaboo!" She smiled wider, and while the voluptuous beauty was already climbing into the vessel, the redhead remain on the ground, her hand at the bottom step of the ladder. The bird like ship started quickly gaining height, and her feet tore off the ground. The ladder was being pulled inside, and gritting his teeth Thorington watched the body of the blasted skinny ginger draw a wide arch above him and disappear inside the metal bird.

"_SS Kinglet..._" He muttered under his breath and added an intricate swearing.

"They left some of their belongings in the cave," Thorington heard Killian's voice coming from between the rocks, and he decisively marched there. There were tools, the lamps, a picnic basket with half finished lunch, and a small black coat thrown carelessly on a handle of a shovel sticking out of the sand. Thorington picked up the coat and gave it a look over. There was no name embroidered on it, just the initials _W.E.W.L._, he twirled it in his hands and caught the faint smell of lilac coming from the soft velvet fabric.

Thorington swore again, this time much more dirtily, and angrily started walking towards his ship, the small black corset laced coat still clasped in his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: My darling ****GuestReaderA****, you are awesome! Thank you for your detailed reviews! **

**It's nice to know that people actually notice all those small details that FF writers seemingly put in just for themselves :D And yes, Thorin's pony's name was Minty, thus **_**SS **__**Lamiaceae **_**:P**

**And maybe, the amphibians are flying fish in this world :P**

**A/N#2: Since I got a comment that Dwalin(son)'s speech requires translation, and I did indeed give him Victorian underworld slang, there will be a glossary at the end of the chapter :)**

**A/N#3: Since this chapter has been teased in **_**We Are Scattered Through Time and Space, **_**I'm updating with two chapters at once today. Still, please, skim through this one, it has some changes :) **

"What do you intend to do, laddie?" Balinson watched his master pull on his evening swallowtail jacket and adjust his silk cravat. Thorington inspected the pin with his family crest bearing an octopus and two crossed cutlasses and seemed pleased with its position on the brocade of the tie.

"All I can do is to go to Elliot Thrandon." Thorington voice was more of a growl. The two tycoons could hardly be described as being on friendly terms. "He has the duplicate of the key, since _Erebor _was initially designed for his father. My grandfather swore that not even a single coin of the Thrandon family money was spent on her building, but the Thrandons still had claims on her. And they have never returned the key given to them with the initial schematics as a token of friendship."

"If you ask for the key, he'll know what you are up too," Balinson shook his head in vexation. "So much for keeping our mission a secret."

"We will still need his support for this journey. There is a stretch of it where we might have to cross the skies above his lands. I'm certain I can negotiate with him," Thorington smirked darkly, "A favour for a favour."

The soiree in the Elliot Thrandon's mansion has just reached its opulent bloom point, when Thorington entered the dining hall in his black jacket, his customary blue and silver, tapestry and silk, wide lapelled vest visible in the bright light of gas lamps hanging under the ceiling. His masculine jaw set stubbornly, he proceeded to the table with drinks, followed by Graham Dwalinson. It was of course considered poor manners to bring your help to a fancy evening such as this one, but it had been already established that Thorington didn't go anywhere without his lieutenant.

The men stood in a corner of the hall exchanging quiet whispers, when Thorington noticed a small redhead by the wall. And although she'd exchanged her previous outfit, the white shirt and leather trousers with thigh holsters and a utility belt, to an elegant white dress, he recognized her at once. A fashionable white top hat with albino peacock feathers and a pearl and opal pin, was sitting askew on her coiffured ginger curls. As sophisticated as she looked at the moment, the circumstances of their previous meeting were dramatic enough for her angular face to be etched in his memory. He touched Dwalinson's sleeve and pointed first at her and then at the back door with his eyes. While his bodyguard moved to ensure she'd fail to escape through it if the circumstance arose, Thorington quickly walked up to her and tightly clasped his hand around her upper arm. He expected her to jolt, but she remained calm and threw him a look from under her lashes. He noticed pale delicate collarbones and a long neck, with a white lace, ruffled ribbons and ivory cameo choker.

"Mister Thorington, I presume," the low-class accent from before was gone, her voice melodic and confident, and she gracefully took a sip from the champagne flute she had in her left hand. The corners of her lips curled up in a sly smile. "Pleasure to see you. And the second time in one week! If I didn't know better, I'd say you are following me." He snarled.

"Since you seem to know my name, it would be polite to give me yours." She smiled, her rouged mouth looked even wider, and he noticed the freckles peppering her turn-up nose. "And I would also like to know how you got here. Are you after Thrandon now after looting what belonged to me?" She tilted her head and gave him a studying look.

"I do not remember looting any of your possessions, Mr. Thorington. The box in question was buried on a beach, and although they say you own the waters of this world, whatever is buried in the sand… Well, as the saying goes, finders, keepers."

"The key belongs to my family," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"It doesn't anymore. And you are hurting my arm, do be so kind as to refrain from making a scene."

"Give it to me," he tightened his grip. He would despise hurting a woman, but something about her just made him livid.

"Miss Leary, how nice of you to join us," Thrandon's mesmerizing voice jerked them both out of a death stare contest they were engaged into. The tall blonde host of the party approached them, his habitual long brocade coat dragging behind him on the polished floor. "John, my friend, you have met Miss Leary as I can see. Such an honour to have the famous Ginger Lightning at my modest gathering!"

Thorington's head jerked, and he gaped at the small woman. He released her arm in shock. She stretched her hand with a fashionable clockwork cuff, and Thrandon had to bend almost in two to kiss her knuckles.

"Mr. Thrandon, it's a pleasure to be here." She suddenly emitted a delicate chuckle. "It's not every day that I find myself in the company of two kings. The King of Timber and the King of Steam," she pronounced in a sing-song voice, and Thrandon smiled in his usual snake-like manner.

"You are the royalty in here, my darling. After all, if not for your associates none of us would have had his empire. We are nothing without your lightning globes." She smiled benevolently and nodded.

The waltz started at the background, and Thrandon stretched his hand to her. "May I have the honour?" She accepted, and Thorington watched them walk to the dancefloor.

Dwalinson silently approached his master. "Is it the bird? Looks like'er, though clad like a lady this time." Thorington didn't answer, his cold blue eyes following the fluid movements of the redhead. She threw her head back, laughing at something Thrandon intimately whispered into her ear, her neck long and elegant, and the King of Steam ground his teeth. "What's she doin' with the pale judy?"

"Just like us, she'd need Thrandon's support if she decides to go for _Erebor_."

"How's she goin' do it? She only has the key, we have the map. And besides, she's just a lass."

"She isn't." Thorington quietly swore under his breath. "She is not just a thief either, as we thought." Dwalinson threw her an appraising look.

"Have to say she looks all jemmy, like a proper lady. Not like that twig of a lass we saw before. In these dresses they at least have the degs and nancy. Is it all cotton in'nit, though?" Dwalinson gave the nearest standing woman a suspicious look.

"I'm hardly interested in the content of her dress," Thorington sneered, "Except her corset pocket where she probably keeps the key. She is the Ginger Lightning, the union leader of the Sky Bolts Catchers."

"What?" Dwalinson's jaw slacked. "That daffy twist?"

"That exact girl. And I think it's time to cut in." Thorington decisively headed towards the couple twirling on the dancefloor. Dwalinson grumbled under his breath.

"Aye, 'ere he goes. He'll shake a flannin with the Zappers too, is all. As if we haven't enough aggro with the Wood Tallywags." Dwalinson quickly downed another drink and sighed. The evening was picking up speed.

Thorington navigated his way through couples dancing on the floor, and soon enough the redhead's small hand lay in his. Before leaving, Thrandon gave Thorington a cold, irked stare, and Thorington wondered whatever could have spited the blonde. Surely, he wasn't jealous. The girl was hardly appealing. On the other hand, Thorington quickly changed his mind, perhaps it was the apprehension of a business rival, Bolt Catchers were a crucial power in the world of industrial manufacturing.

His hand lay on her narrow back, covering it from her shoulder blades to the minuscule waist. She was a skilled dancer, light but confident. Despite their height difference, she hardly reached his collarbones, they moved on the dance floor in a balanced accordance.

"So, Miss Leary, we seem to have quite an impasse on our hands," he looked down at her and caught a sarcastic spark in her eyes. "You have something I need, I am ready to listen to your conditions."

**Glossary:**

judy - woman, prostitute, effeminate man

jemmy - proper, elegant, posh

degs - breasts

nancy - backside

daffy - tiny

twist - small girl, child

shake a flannin - start a fight

tallywags - testes


	5. Chapter 5

She had strange eyes, slanted, lashes long and thick. The colour of the eyes kept on changing as they swirled on the dance floor. The corners of her lips were tense, though altogether she exuded arrogant and relaxed attitude, a small unpleasant smile playing on her face.

"I do not see any point in negotiations between us, Mr. Thorington. The key to _Erebor _belongs to me now_._" Thorington ground his teeth, he had still been hoping she hadn't known the purpose of the key. It took a significant effort of his steel will not to crush her hand he was holding in his. Most of all he felt enraged by her slightly sarcastic calm demeanour.

"The key belongs to my family. Just as the ship. Just as the treasure that lies in it."

"The key was looted by pirates, and I have found it on the beach of the land that, parenthetically, belongs to me. Have you happened to pay attention to the name of the town it was buried in the proximity of?" He gave her a grave stare. "By the unwritten marine laws the loot of a pirate belongs to them."

"You haven't looted the key though."

"No, I haven't, but my mother did." Thorington felt his jaw slack, and she gave him a derisive smile. "I bet it was her letters that led you to the cave. And I am also prepared to wager my ship that you thought they were written by a male." Thorington had no words. "How typical of you, Mr. Thorington." The game was moving faster than Thorington anticipated, and he was quite obviously losing in it. "Are you aware of how your darling ship sank?" Still flabberghasted, he cleared his throat.

"Don't tell me you also believe in a colossal squid."

"I do not need to believe, I have my mother's diary." Her face shone with pride. "Norma Woodhouse, the captain of _SS Woodstar, _have you heard of her?" He did, and he felt slightly embarrassed, he indeed had considered the notorious Captain Woodhouse a man. "So as you can see, I have nothing to discuss with you, Mr. Thorington. I have the key and my mother's diary to direct me to the ship." She suddenly let go of his hand, and against all rules of propriety in society she stepped back from him in the middle of a dance. He felt the eyes of everyone in the room shift onto them. "Once she is mine, I'll be prepared to sell her to you for half her price. After all, she once belonged to your family." She smiled venomously, and he clenched his fists. The white rage rising in him was so hard to contain that he had to close his eyes for an instant to reign his temper. She jerked her chin up and haughtily marched away from him. Thorington noticed Dwalinson to look at him questioningly, and he made himself shake his head. There was nothing to be done.

Later that night Thorington was sitting in an armchair in front of fire crackling in a fireplace in Elliot Thrandon's study. The much taller chair that the host was occupying, and from which he was lazily studying Thorington, didn't improve the King of Steam's mood. He was used to towering over every person he had to converse with.

"Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand." Thrandon had a strange monotonous voice, mesmerizing and deep, and Thorington clenched his jaws in irritation. "A quest to reclaim a ship that belonged to our families. I myself suspect a more prosaic motive. I feel your only goal is to reclaim the treasure in the belly of that ship, or something of that ilk."

Thorington remained silent and took a sip from his glass of sherry. He had already been outwitted once that day and had difficulty containing his temper. He knew that the other man was provoking him intentionally, stating that the ship belonged to both families, degrading Thorington's purpose in this journey, addressing the ship 'it'. Thrandon tilted his head and gave his guest a pensive look. "You have found a way to locate and resurface it. You seek that which would bestow upon you the ability to enter the ship and raise it from the depth. The ignition key. It is precious to you beyond measure, I understand that." An odd smile played on Thrandon's lips. "There are gems in that ship that I too desire. I offer you my help." Thorington raised his glass to show that he was listening. "I will give you the key and will support your quest, if you but return what is mine."

"A favor for a favor," Thorington pronounced in a low voice.

"You have my word." Thrandon's eyes shone feverishly. "One King to another." Thorington winced from the reminder of what the despicable redhead said at the soiree.

"And what is it that you want, Elliot? Which of my possessions do you consider yours to claim? Surely, not _Erebor_ herself."

Thrandon got up from his chair and threw the long tail of his odd brocade coat behind him. He made a few fluid steps around his study and stopped in front of Thorington.

"My mother's diamond necklace, the Starlight Jewel, the 637 carats of white diamonds, crowned with 40.63 carat sapphire." Thorington gave him a lopsided dark smirk.

"If the memory serves me right, she gave it to my father..."

Thrandon hissed and leaned, his face suddenly very close to Thorington's. "Do not repeat the wretched rumours to me! I know it's a lie and a defamation. You out of all people should know that there was no association between them."

"And yet the necklace your father had gifted her with is in the hold of my father's ship." Thrandon shrank back from him and narrowed his eyes.

"I warned your father of what dispersing such rumours would summon, but he would not listen." Thrandon returned into his chair. "You are just like him."

"And yet I think you will help me, Elliot." Despite what was known about his temper, John Thorington was a successful businessman, cunning and calculative. He wouldn't have achieved his ascendancy in this world, had he let his pugnacity get the best of him. "You will give me the key, and I will return your mother's jewels to you." Thradon picked up his glass from a table near his armrest and pursed his curved lips in a fractious way.

"And that is all?"

"No," Thorington smiled and cocked a brow, "I will need your support for when we are passing the New Mirkwood county. The woods belong to you, we will need your approval to pass their airspace. And perhaps, some others will ask for it." The two pairs of blue eyes met, and Thrandon nodded with a sly smile.

"An official request has indeed been made to my clerks by another flying vessel. _SS Kinglet_, an amphibian vessel of ingenuine design, bearing a uncanny resemblance with a kinglet in its appearance. A bird also known under the name of wren..." Thorington hummed and took a sip from his glass nonchalantly. "But perhaps the request is lacking some important papers, and to grant it I will need that other crew to submit them as well. I'm patient. I can wait." The men saluted each other and proceeded to enjoy the excellent sherry in silence, if not amicable then somewhat tolerant.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Regarding "ack ruffians," it is Victorian slang for criminals that rob and murder on the water. I familiarized myself with the era when writing "With a Bullet And a Kiss" and now can't seem to shake the slang out of my head :) **

**A/N#2: I might have couple more chapters written ;) or six... But am I milking my audience for reviews by squirreling them? Perhaps :D**

Thorington was sitting on the bridge of his ship, his long legs propped up on the panel, near the helm. He was smoking his customary cherry flavoured panatela, enjoying the view of the calm blue sea through the glass dome, serving as the roof and the walls of the front part of his vessel, its hull designed to bring to mind the body of an angler fish, the glass part at the bottom strengthened by an intricate wrought ironwork. The murmuring of her engine was the most pleasant sound for him, and he slightly smiled into his neatly trimmed, black beard. Even the fact that they were forced by their accidental cartographer to start their journey by picking up the last member of their crew in some gods forbidden hole called Hobbiton, somewhere on the outskirts of the known world, couldn't tarnish how much he was enjoying himself on this adventure.

Not for the first time since their journey started, he caught himself acutely savouring every day of it. He thought warmly of the times of his youth, when his grandfather insisted he tried the life of a simple crewman on one of their ships, to learn the ropes and to understand people he would have to lead one day. He served well, and as Balin said afterwards, he became the man his people could follow, the one they could call the King. The panatela was done, and he got up to stretch his legs. His fingers ran on the king spoke of his wheel, down the rim, caressing the mahogany.

The lock on the oval door behind him clicked, and the pneumatic cylinders hissed letting one of his nephews in. Thorington nodded to Philip and sat back into his chair.

"Is the redhead coming after us?" Thorington looked at the young blond from the corner of his eye. Philip's golden hair was scattered on the shoulders of his brown leather coat, thrown over his uniform. He had forgone his customary brown stetson, but Thorington understood that just like his brother Philip had been probably spending most of his time on the poop deck of the ship, probably practising their shooting. Although mostly stern and demanding with his nephews, Thorington was very fond of the boys, and their adventurous and merry attitude more often than not would cause the corners of his lips twitch. Rigid when it came to uniform and subordination himself, he allowed them liberties in their attires and was rather forgiving to all the troubles he so often had to bail them out of.

"Is it about the curvaceous lass with striped stockings?" Thorington asked, one eyebrow cocked sardonically.

"It's about the chase," Phil pulled a long pipe out of one of many pockets on his coat. "If there is another crew we are running against, the journey becomes more exciting." Thorington shook his head good-naturedly.

"I wouldn't count on it. I made sure they are no competition to us."

"Pity," Phil's white teeth quietly clanked on the bit of his pipe. "Sticking it up to the Zappers would be ace."

Like any seaman Philips wasn't particularly partial to Bolt Catchers. They were considered libertines, operating without any hierarchy or set of rules. Their ships traveled air, sea and land, and due to the irreplaceability of their merchandise for any industrial production they rarely complied with the rules of other industries. They were propagating unions and feminism, and, which could potentially be another reason for hostility from other casts, they were almost exclusively victorious in fights with any other ships. Given non-violence unless in self-defence was one of their philosophical dogmas, their weaponry was built upon the power of the sky bolts, blue strikes of deadly lightnings used as ammunition for their quarterstaffs and deck guns. No steam or fire gun could surpass that.

"Philip," Thorington's voice was soft, "If we have this map and the letters, do you not think others would have found some evidence of where she is buried too? Rumours have begun to spread. Eyes look East to the sea, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. There will be others after the ship. You will have your fight."

"Uncle, we grew up on tales about _Erebor_. Tales you told us. It's not about the fight, and it's not about the treasure," Philip calmly exhale some smoke and pensively studied the sea outside the glass, "It is about returning what is rightfully ours, what belongs to the family."

Thorington smiled and nodded. "Aye, and she is waiting for us." Thorington pulled out his engraved silver cigar case, bearing his family crest, and the two men smoked in companionable silence for a while.

The door hissed again, and Killian rushed onto the bridge. "The dinner is ready, Uncle. Mrs. O'Gloin asked us to haste, the meal is served earlier today, since we are arriving to the destination in three hours. Dorison is coming to take the wheel."

Thorington nodded and after a few minutes he allowed the other operator to take his seat. He gave an appraising look to the round, pompous man, with his lavish handlebar mustache, twisted up according to the latest fashion, perfectly coiffed grey hair, his uniform buttoned up and pristine, and found his appearance flawless. Thorington himself was fond of impeccable uniform, while on board he always remained in the full attire, a white starched shirt, the famous black silk vest with silver and blue embroidery, everyone serving on a Thorington ship was to wear one, and the double breasted, black jacket, silk brocade of the same shade of black as the fabric, with a stand-up collar and the octopus and two cutlasses crest above the left breast pocket. Thorington's cuffs and left lapel, instead of chest, were also decorated with a larger version of the fleet emblem, to signify his status of a commanding officer.

At dinner the conversation mostly concerned the seas they were presumingly searching for the ship. While Thorington and Balinson had previously travelled to those parts of the world, neither of the other crew members had, and soon enough against all rules of decorous behaviour the maps were littering the table between the plates with pan-fried scallops with Noilly sauce, pork pies, black pudding with rocket and poached eggs, yogurt-marinated chicken "lollies" with a smooth and sweet Haradrim spices, and beef Wellington.

Thorington was sitting in his chair, smoking and watching his crew members absorbed in a heated discussion. Even Orison, previously eating quietly and keeping his head low, was engaged in the dispute, waving his arms and expressively pointing out to O'Bofurry that the hull of _Erebor _couldn't possibly have given in, and he was certain most of her systems would be intact even at the depth. Norison was watching his younger colleague with fatherly warmth, while other crewmember started jumping off their seats in agitation.

"She is not some botched up pram to sink once you stick a crowbar up her jacksie!" Orison roared, and everyone halted in their tracks, and then the room filled with booming laughter. Thorington found himself smiling softly as well.

"That is if we do not believe in the stories that surround her sinking," O'Bofurry lit up his square shank billiard pipe, "And the beast that possibly had popped her like a cherry tomato."

"There is no beast," Philip pronounced in an exasperated tone and dangled his wine glass between his thumb and middle finger. He caught his Uncle's eyes and slightly nodded to him, acknowledging their shared scepticism regarding the existence of an alleged monster in the sea.

"The legends of the old tell us about the colossal squid dwelling in those waters, it is referred to as Kraken, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Seaborne monster, teeth like razors, hooks on its tentacles like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals and human meat of unfortunate seamen," O'Bofurry feigned nonchalance but his eyes sparkled feverishly.

"Although I doubt we are dealing with an actual monster," Doctor Oinson took off his rounds glasses and rubbed the bridge of his hawk nose, "There are indeed very large specimen of cephalopod, that could possibly produce a _singulare monstrum_, 'a unique monster', that would be capable of sinking a vessel of her size." The men continued arguing loudly when Thorington rose on his feet, and respectful silence fell over the salon.

"Gentlemen, even if indeed there was a colossal squid involved in the wreck of _Erebor, _it has not been seen for thirty two years. The ship and the vast wealth within it now lie unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back _Erebor_?"

All other thirteen men cheered, and Thorington raised his glass.

"To the return of _Erebor_!" Unified cheer met his toast, and Mrs. O'Gloin was called to bring more Mirkwood red.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I know what you might say, "What's with Bilbo being John Watson from **_**BBC Sherlock**_** all of a sudden?" I don't know, but they sort of look alike, don't they? ;)**

The visit to the small, austere house of Capt. Bilbo Baggins, former officer of the Corps of Royal Military Artificers and Engineers, a veteran of the Goblin wars and a grouchy bachelor suffering from 'soldier's heart', could only be characterized as unsuccessful. Capt. Baggins grudgingly invited his unexpected guests to join him at his modest dinner, and after coffee and cordials he had listened to their proposal. Thorington spoke rather harshly and irritatedly to the veteran feeling that they were imposing, and to be honest he could see that Capt. Baggins couldn't even summon why they had suddenly invaded his home. They did their best not to trod mud on his carpets and not to pillage his pantries, but his face through the negotiation remained astounded and annoyed. He decisively refused their offer to join them on an adventure, and while the company was finishing their drinks, Thorington stepped out of the house into a small, unkempt and bare garden through a French window and lit up his cigar.

He was soon joined by McGrey, and exhaling the thick flavourful smoke Thorington asked in an irked tone, "Why are you dragging the poor lad with you, McGrey? He is quite obviously not planning to move anywhere from his warm spot, from his books and his armchair. His hands are shaking, and I suspect his limp is psychosomatic. He is in no shape to join us."

"Mr. Thorington, you allowed me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Captain Baggins." Thorington threw an askew look at the cartographer, as if trying to remind him that he had had no choice but to agree to the older man's conditions. McGrey continued, "I owe his mother a debt, she wouldn't have wanted to see her son confine himself to a tiny isolated life, with no thrill or interest to anything whatsoever. It'll be very good for him, and most amusing for me. There's a lot more to him than appearances suggest. And he's got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including himself."

"He'll be lost as soon as he leaves home. He should never come. He has no place amongst us." Thorington stuffed his cigar into an ashtray in vexation and walked back into the living room. The company quickly said their goodbyes, and an hour later they were once again travelling at a great speed through the waves of Cardolan Bay.

By the end of the next day their journey brought them to Last Bridge, a floating city, built upon steam powered platforms, the engines underneath the surface providing the citizens of the small but vibrant colony with heat and energy. Last Bridge was a port town, several major merchant routes intersecting in it, all sorts of people arriving and leaving it at all times. It was bursting with buoyant trade, pubs and inns, and zaestful underworld. Thorington and his crew were planning to spend a day in it, to refuel their ship, replenish their supplies, and although each of them had a personal cabin on the board of _Lamiaceae_, they were all looking forward to a night in a real bed in an inn. Last Bridge was famous for its assortment of lodging establishments, capable to satisfy any taste and meet the demands of any wallet.

In the evening of the day of their arrival, after _Lamiaceae _was settled in the docks in the capable hands of the mechanicsof the Last Bridge Branch of Durinson & Co., they were occupying a table in the common room of the biggest tavern in Last Bridge called "Gambolling Stallion"_. _The room was full of loud voices, and although the establishment was on the expensive side, it was in no measure intended for the prudish sort of visitors. There was a lot of wine, a piano man was vigorously running his fingers on the keys in the corner, the bar maids were dressed in red corsets, their shoulders bare and skirts not covering their knees in the front. Thorington decided his crew deserved some undisturbed brisk leisure before the complicated journey, and with pleasure he watched through the rings of smoke swimming in the air how Killian, his cheeks flushed and a wide grin playing on his face, clapped the shoulder of Norison, who was finishing some anecdote from his time in New Eredluin. The jackets and vests were already unbuttoned, Philip was smiling to a pretty blonde barmaid, even Balinson seemed to be enjoying the unceremonial atmosphere of the evening.

Doctor Oinson was loudly arguing with the cartographer about the flying fish of the Southern seas, allegedly reaching in their flight the height of several hundred feet, both men taking large sips of wine, seemingly without noticing. For the shore leave everyone shed their uniform, and they were a colourful and multifarious group, Norison and Orison in the customary for their profession brown tweed vests, with tan satin lapels and thin beige ties, Killian in an ostentatious silk vest, Philip in his favourite double breasted, tangerine coloured leather jacket, Dwalinson is his braces and underarm holsters. Thorington hung his jacket at the back of his chair, his fingers absentmindedly playing with a silver chain on his blue velvet vest with silver brocade. Half an hour later, Philip was already missing from the table, having disappeared in his usual search for female company, Killian was finishing some humourous story, accompanied by Dwalinson and Dorison's booming laughter, when the entrance door of the common room opened, and Thorington saw none other but Capt. Bilbo Baggins. He was dressed in a practical dark brown travel suit, and had behind his back a neatly packed bergan. In his hand he held a cane, and when his eyes met Thorington's he clenched his jaw and definitely lifted his chin.

"I think we now have a diver," Thorington murmured, and all men turned to look at the captain at the door. He sharply exhaled and decisively marched to their table, limping more that usual. He stopped in front of the table and looked Thorington right in the eyes.

"Captain Bilbo Baggins, Fifth Underhill Fusiliers, at your service." Thorington smiled to the diver and invited him to join them at the table with a wide gesture of his hand. The captain clumsily tucked himself on the nearest chair, his face still preserving an irked expression. His nose twitched in a nervous habit, and he petulantly grumbled, "And I would like to see that contract now." Killian sitting near him laughed loudly, and others started smiling.

Balinson gave a mischievous look to Capt. Baggins through his monocle. "I obviously do not carry such important paper with me, but I assure you, Captain, everything is covered in it. The usual summary about the pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth."

"Nice to know," Baggins grouched, and soon enough there was a large mug of ale in front of him. He took a large gulp and leaned back in his chair.

"So, honourable Captain," engineer Norison smiled to him over his glass, "How did you manage to catch up with us so quickly? _Lamiaceae _is a sprightly lass."

"Funny story in actuality," Baggins seemed to feel more uninhibited after his initial tense prickliness passed, and the second mug of ale was half empty. "I was given a lift by the most unusual crew. You wouldn't expect that much courtesy from the Zappers, but they were the most charming lot. And what a ship!" He took another sip, and his eyes shone bright. "And I can't say the company was unpleasant. They had a young woman for a captain, they were most welcoming. Wonderful dinner as well, I have to say. Apparently they have a Haradrim cook. Most enjoyable chicken stew!"

"Indeed? Not something you expect from them Zappers," Dorison grumpily mumbled.

"And yet, lovely lot," Capt. Baggins pulled his pipe out of his coat pocket, "_SS Kinglet. _And what a remarkable lass she was! Such a beauty, so much grace, and the glow of her copper!" His words were interrupted by a loud crack. Everyone turned to Thorington who himself was staring at his hand in shock, blood mixed with wine dripping from his palm that he cut when he crushed the wine glass in his hand.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: There is another glossary at the bottom, for the dockers' speech. Have fun! :)**

Thorington shook his hand, brushing off the glass from his palm, and pulling a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket, he wrapped it around the cuts.

"If I were you, Captain Baggins, I'd choose a wiser path and refrain from any association with that aforementioned graceful copper beauty. She is not to be trusted," he sneered venomously through gritted teeth,

"The ship?" Capt. Baggins stared at Thorington in confusion, and for a second the latter's face wavered when he realised his mistake.

"I believe, my dear Captain, our commander meant the captain of _SS Kinglet_, Miss Wren Leary," Balinson hid his small smile in his glass.

"They were a very welcoming crew, very interested in our plans. I obviously haven't shared any information, I understand you prefer to keep our journey as much of a secret as possible. But they didn't insist. And the wine was excellent, apparently it came from personal reserve of Elliot Thrandon." Judging by Thorington's face, had he had another glass in his hand, the similar fate would have befallen it.

"In my mind," McGrey apparently had finished his discussion with Doctor Oinson and was attentively listening to the diver. "It would be wiser for us to seek cooperation with the crew of _SS Kinglet_. Captain Leary," Thorington bared teeth from such formal appellation towards the abominable ginger, "She has her mother's letters, she could help us with the directions."

"I do not need her advice," Thorington growled, pulling at the corner of his handkerchief with his teeth, tightening the knot.

"We have a map that we cannot read. She could help us. I am still not certain that Hugo Elrond will be able to decipher the second half of the encryption." Thorington slammed his palm into the table.

"Help? We go to the beach to find the key that belonged to my family. She disappears from under our nose with my possession! I go to obtain Thrandon's permission to cross the airspace over his lands, she is already there. She had the nerve to offer me my ship for half its price! You ask me to seek out the very person who has been thwarting me on every step of this journey and whose mother pillaged my grandfather's ship and looted my father's key!"

"You are neither of them, Mr. Thorington," McGrey sounded exasperated, "I did not give you that map and the location of the key for you to hold on to the past." Thorington narrowed his eyes. Everyone was suddenly reminded by how physically strong and dangerous he was, especially when his temper would have gotten the best of him.

"I did not know they were yours to keep," his voice was low and menacing, and the cartographer jumped on his feet. He picked up his worn down grey jacket from the back of his chair, when Doctor Oinson called his name.

"McGrey, where are you going?"

The grey haired cartographer threw over his shoulder, "To seek the company of the only one around here who's got any sense," and he started walking towards the door.

"And who's that?" Asked Capt. Baggins from behind his mug.

"Myself, Captain Baggins! I've had enough of arrogant seamen for one day!" The door closed behind him with a bang, and the men at the table returned to their drinks and conversation. A deep wrinkle lay between Throington's brows, and he took a big sip of wine from the glass a passing barmaid had put in front of him.

Some time later when he was already absorbed in a conversation with Balinson, he suddenly heard Killian's voice.

"I think we should take the glass away from Uncle." Thorington looked at his nephew in confusion, and then followed his stare, and by the entrance door he saw the person he would give up half of his money to never see again.

Captain Wren Leary, in a stylish black double breasted lolita coat, a white ruffly lace skirt, reaching the floor at the back, short in front, showing her slender legs in black stockings and practical black boots, laced with silk ribbons, stepped into the common room, followed by the already familiar curvaceous beauty, and a giant man in a floor length fur coat. On her head Captain Leary wore an excessively tall top hat, with black and white ribbons and snow owl feathers, a small veil covering the upper half of her face, and he saw her red mouth stretch in a derisive smile when her slanted eyes met his. In a double underbust holster she wore two Bolt pistols, a customary Bolt Catcher quarterstaff strapped to her back. Her companion, in tight brown leather trousers and a red swallowtail coat, also had two pistols in her thigh holsters and a crossbow on her back.

Thorington quickly assessed the man accompanying the blasted redhead. He was two heads taller than Thorington, which was an accomplishment in itself, Thorington reaching six foot five. The man had puffy, greyish brown mutton chops, bushy eyebrows and strange yellow eyes. An unpleasant shiver ran down Thorington's spine from the animalistic stare of the strange man. He wore a double holster over his fur coat, additional sections going down both his arms, seemingly countless pistols and Bolt bombs decorating him like a Yule tree. He also had two thigh holsters, each filled with a massive heavy looking multiple barrel guns.

Captain Leary tilted her head, giving his table and crew an evaluating look, when suddenly Philip stepped out of the shadows by the wall, and giving the redhead a low ceremonial bow, he announced in a cheery tone, "Philip Bronson at your service, Captain Leary. Honoured to meet you."

The redhead turned to him and stretched her small hand in a black leather glove for him to kiss, "Pleasure is all mine, Lieutenant Commander Bronson. I have heard a lot about you from your previous commanding officer. We play bridge on Saturdays."

"I hope everything you've heard was of disreputable and contemptible nature," he smirked to her roguishly. She smiled, and Thorington saw her small fingers squeeze Philip's hand.

"Thank gods, yes." They both laughed, and she introduced her companions to him. Sudden noise in the common room drowned their conversation, and Thorington rose at his feet.

At that moment a large man, in stevedore outfit, dirty shirt, braces and wide trousers, a dusty bowler on his head, wobbly in his obviously inebriated state, stepped towards Philip and grabbed his shoulder.

"Aye, mate, we ain't done with our talk! You might had good broads but you is a queer gill! I wanna me rag back!" Philip shook his hand off his shoulder, and Thorington quickly gave Dwalinson a small shove and pointed at Philip with his eyes. At the same time he noticed Captain Leary's companions shift slightly, effectively locking the drunk man from both sides. The Leary girl remain blissfully serene, her eyes calmly studying the bulky docker.

"Hey, Bert, is it the whiddler? You found'im? I want me rim back!" Two more of equally sturdy and intoxicated wharfies appeared, dressed in the same worn down uniform. All three of them were as taller as Thorington, and the latter felt his crew slowly rising on their feet.

"Aye, me did. And I'm just saying, a little appreciation would be nice. 'Thank you very much, Bert. Lovely find, Bert.' How hard is that?" The other two approached them, their beady eyes roaming Philip and the people around him.

"Gentlemen, I understand your frustration but I won that game fair and square," Philip spoke in a merry even tone, while Thorington could see him quickly unbuttoning his jacket, several weapons hidden underneath its leather. "How about we forget about this misunderstanding and go our separate ways to enjoy our drinks?"

The smallest one of the three dockers screeched in a disgusting nasal voice, "Look, William, it's thinks 'imself a man. It's got arms and legs and everything! I don't know, but I don't like the way it wriggles around!"

The one called William shifted his bleary, intoxicated eyes at the redhead and snorted derisively, "And look, Bert, he is with his doxy."

"Blimey, what a bracket face!" The first docker spat out, and that's when Philip placed his first, perfectly executed uppercut unto the docker's heavy jaw.

**Glossary:**

broads - cards

queer gill - suspicious man

rag - money

whiddler - a man who talks a lot

rim - money

doxy - mistress

bracket face - extremely ugly woman


	9. Chapter 9

The problem with any tavern barney is that after a while no one understands how it started, and furthermore, no one cares. Rather soon everyone starts participating, and unless you came to the place with this particular person, everyone is seen as an adversary.

According to the unwritten laws of port life no one was using any weapons, except for, again according to the sea and air travellers silent agreement, the ones that were part of the decor of the room. Thorington ducked when a chair whooshed above his head, he quickly rolled over the nearest table, only to see it picked up by Dwalinson to be thrown into the head of the nearest docker. Thorington's company, since they had an advantage of not fighting each other, could be considered a winning side if only there were any sides in the commotion that was taking place in the tavern.

Some unfamiliar seaman grabbed Thorington's shoulder, fist lifted in a punch, when Norison lowered a well placed hit to the man's head with an ale pitcher. Thorington gave the engineer a quick grateful nod. At that moment right in front of his face he saw the red haired captain of Bolt Catchers jump on the table, and she started kicking a mug after mug that were left in a row on it. Each shot was precise and perfectly executed. Many rendered their targets unconscious, and Thorington heard an approving whistle from Philip.

Engineer Orison flew by Thorington only to be caught by Doctor Oinson and put on his feet again. Balinson was twirling a chair leg around him, Dwalinson just knocked out some flying vessel pilot with his massive fist, and the curvaceous beauty from _SS Kinglet_ kicked the nearest docker in the most sensitive area.

Two men grabbed the arms of Captain Leary, and Thorington saw her jerk. She wasn't strong enough to overpower them, and he yelled to Dwalinson to interfere, his own hands busy with two drunk stevedores trying to strangle and surprisingly drop him on the floor at the same time, which made him feel like a wet sheet being twisted in the opposite directions at the same time prior to be hung to dry. And then he saw Philip for some impossible reason standing on his brother's shoulders to lunge ahead in a graceful somersault. One man out of the two trying to manhandle the redhead flew across the room after a sensitive contact with Philip's elbow, she knocked the second one out with a short uppercut, and suddenly she was in Philips' arms. He dunked her in an almost dance like movement, Thorington saw her laughing red mouth and squinted eyes, and then Thorington received a sensitive blow in his shoulder. He twisted his upper body, blocked the following attack, and his fist met some seaman's cheekbone.

The first three dockers, apparently after reaching some sort of agreement, rushed towards Philip, only to run into an enraged Capt. Baggins. He yelled something in their faces, and they grabbed him under arms and by his feet and started swinging him probably planning to propel the former captain of the Fifth Underhill Fusiliers across the room, when Killian jumped in front of them, wielding a chandelier and yelled, "Drop him!"

"You what?" asked one of the dockers, only to receive a dull blow to the back of his head from a random maiden in the Elrond Air Fleet uniform who was rushing by with a smoked mutton leg clasped in her hand. The docker gurgled and sagged on the floor, dragging the upper half of Capt. Baggins's body down. His feet still remained in the hands of the other docker, potentially called Tom, who was watching his fallen comrade in astoundment.

"I said drop him!" Killian's voice was commanding, but got drowned in the noise of the room. It worked on Tom the Docker though who instinctively let go of Capt. Baggins's legs, and the latter fell backside down with a thud.

The last of the three dockers lunged at Killian yelling obscenities, while Thorington's nephew rushed towards him as well, dropped on his side and slid under the table between them, his legs in shiny ankle boots cut the docker down, and he finished the job with the chandelier he had in his hand.

The room had a balcony, and Thorington caught in the corner of his eye the view of Captain Leary's slender ankles fly up the stairs, she was followed by a very angry looking man, whose head was decorated with egg and chicken salad, probably from the bowl she still held in her hand. Thorington quickly checked and saw Philip, who seemed to had appointed himself her protector, pressed to the floor by three men. Thorington wasn't worried for his nephew and concentrated on the two men coming at him with chair backs in their hands.

At that moment the redhead jumped, closely escaping the grabbing hands of the man behind her, and hung on the large chandelier above the room. Her legs were swinging, surrounded by the voluminous lace of her skirt, a thin stripe of milky white skin above the stockings, and then she yelled, "I can't get down!"

"Dwalinson, down!" Thorington yelled the familiar command, and his bodyguard fell on all four on the floor. Thorington made three large running steps, pushed with his foot from his bodyguard's back, and in a jump he wrapped his arms around her tiny waist. He fell on the nearest table, twisting his body in the air, so his back hit the wooden surface and she were to be protected from all sides.

Her freckled nose ended up right in front of his face, soft copper curls tickled his cheek, and his nose filled with the elegant aroma of lilacs. Her body stretched on his, her back pressed to his chest and stomach, she twisted her head to look into his eyes. He saw amber irises, neither green, nor hazel, and long fluffy lashes.

"My gratitude, Captain Thorington," her tone was decorous, and he sobered up. They sat up on the table and looked around. The battle was coming to its end. Most of men and women were either unconscious on the floor or losing interest in the barney, Killian was lazily pushing some very inebriated seaman away from him, the latter reminiscent of a yo-yo since his tie was clasped in Killian's hand, while vigorously gesturing, Thorington's dark haired nephew was conversing with Captain Leary's beast like companion. They seemed to be discussing some boxing techniques, considering the mimicking the giant was making with his enormous fists. Philip was helping the chestnut haired crew member from the Bolt Catchers from under a pile of curtains that had toppled on her. Oinson and Capt. Baggins were already pouring ale in mugs, while Balinson was laughing at some joke Dwalinson had told him with a very conspiratory face.

Suddenly one of the original dockers popped from under the table Thorington and the redhead were sitting on, and with a roar he grabbed her ankle. She squealed, and Thorington knocked him out with a heavy left handed hook. He was ambidextrous, and his right hand was occupied, gently holding her fingers. He wasn't sure at what stage he had taken her hand, but he tried to pretend he wasn't enjoying the feeling of her cool strong fingers on his palm.

The docker made a whiny nose and lost consciousness, his upper body on the table in front of them. Out of a pocket of his dirty vest a pistol fell out. Thorington immediately assumed it had been looted by the docker. It was too expensive and exquisite for the man to ever purchase, and Thorington stretched his hand letting go of Captain Leary's delicate digits and picked up the gun.

It was the most splendid weapon he had had the privilege to see. The lines fluid and precise, it had an amazing balance to it as well as intricate decorative carvings on its frame. The shape of the grip, the so-called "dragon tooth," was so striking that Thorington ran the fingertips of his other hand along its elegant lines, down to the toe.

"You have an interesting facial expression, Captain Thorington. If I didn't know better, I'd assume you are in love," the redhead's sarcastic voice shook him out of his revery.

He flipped the pistol and saw the brand on it, "Crafted by E.G. Ecthelion, Gondolin Ltd." Even the fact that the weapon was manufactured on one of the factories of the ancestor of Hugo Elrond couldn't cool down the piercing adoration he immediately felt towards the pistol. He shifted it on his palm, enjoying the perfect grip, and then he finally looked at the woman sitting next to him.

She was studying him with attentive eyes, and he felt immediately irritated. "To which do I owe the pleasure of seeing you again, Captain Leary?" His voice sounded unpleasant even to his own ears, and he saw her nostrils flare. He knew a snarky remark was coming and he welcomed it, anything to silence the strange excitement he felt from having her close, his cheek burning from the memory of her extraordinary curls caressing his skin.


End file.
